


Trying to Catch a Star

by Periwinkle39



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Theonsa - Freeform, Three men and a little lady, but mostly jonsa, jonsa, theonsa baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periwinkle39/pseuds/Periwinkle39
Summary: Sansa and Theon have a drunken one-night-stand. Sansa gets pregnant. Sansa moves in with Theon—and Robb and Jon. Five years later, everyone's wondering how long this can last.Yes, it's a Three Men and A Little Lady AU.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 136
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Watching old movies to deal with quaran-stress sparked memories of Tom Selleck as a yearning, hot dad, which of course led me to think of Jon Snow in this very scenario. The concept is total crack fic, but this is going to be a slow burn pie topped with a pinch of angst. This first chapter is the set up (Sansa finding out she's pregnant and the decision to move in with the boys), which is very different from the plot of Three Men and a Baby, but it will time-jump to eventually align with what happens in the sequel, Three Men and a Little Lady, which is the one with the love story, which emerges when the little girl is old enough to realize this arrangement is not the norm, forcing the adults raising her to realize that it can't last forever.
> 
> The title comes from "Waiting for a Star to Fall," a quintessential 80s one-hit wonder song, which was in the second movie. 
> 
> Shout out to maialoha and especially amymel86 for the encouragement to write this, and apocalyptic-mailman for the suggestion on the title of the story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

By the way the waitress tucked her hair behind her ear as she talked to him, Sansa could see from where she stood at the door of the restaurant that Theon’s flirting game was on that day. She couldn’t help but laugh. That wink, that smile—a combination that was not without its appeal and to which she was not entirely immune.

Obviously, considering her current state.

As she approached the booth he was sitting in, Sansa slowed, asking herself for the millionth time whether this was a conversation she wanted to have. If she took the easy path, everything could continue as it was and no one would be the wiser. Theon Greyjoy would remain her carefree goofball friend and that night a pleasant memory they would occasionally laugh about. There were other reasons that night, that party, hadn’t been fun, but none of that was on Theon. It wasn’t on anyone really, just overheard whispers and a childhood crush Sansa had no business still nursing. Not then, and especially not now. Neither she nor anyone could have guessed how things would end up when Arya, noticing her sadness, offered a shot to up her mood that became several shots too many. Then Gendry and Theon joined them. Then somehow the foursome became two pairs because Theon’s flirting game had been on then too, and it wasn’t a night Sansa wanted to end alone.

The hangover and morning-after awkwardness should have been the worst of it, but no. Ten weeks later, here she was. A week since the test. A week of carrying a secret and going back and forth about what to do. She still hadn’t made up her mind when she walked into the restaurant, but Theon was her friend. She owed him at least the conversation. And anyway, she really didn’t want to make the decision all on her own and remain the only person in the world to know what she knew. That was kind of depressing.

“There she is!” he said, tilting his head and smiling when she spotted her. “The queen of my heart!”

_Flirting game definitely on._ “You say that to all the girls, Theon,” Sansa said with a smirk as she sat down across from him. It was true.

“I have big heart, Sansa,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Among other things. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Sansa looked up to see the waitress, who was smiling a bit less dreamily than she had been a minute ago. “Coffee,” Sansa said automatically.

“And are you two ready to order or do you need—”

“Actually, no coffee,” Sansa blurted out. _No caffeine_. “Do you have orange juice?”

“We sure do. Large or small?”

“Large—no, small. Small.”

The waitress smiled and nodded. “Why don’t I go get that for you and be right back.”

Sansa looked at Theon again. He was smiling and winking at the waitress as she turned to go.

“If she doesn’t write her number of the receipt, I’ve officially lost my touch,” he said.

“You’re incorrigible,” Sansa said, amused.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure?” Theon asked. “Snow was throwing daggers at me as I left the house this morning when I told him you were taking me out for breakfast.”

Sansa bit her lip to hold back a sigh. _Jon Snow._ The crush she had no business still nursing. The crush that outdated just about everything else in Sansa’s life except her family, a wish that was going to have to stay just that. _Especially now_. “How is he? Arya says he’s been working like crazy.”

Theon shrugged. “Moody as fuck, even for him. You should stop by and say hi. He always perks up when you’re around.”

“How can you tell?” she joked lamely, but feeling warmth come over her face as she thought about his sweet downward smile. _A whole bunch of wishes._

Theon narrowed his eyes, as if considering carefully whether he should say what he seemed to want to say, which struck Sansa as funny because Theon was not someone who considered anything carefully. But the waitress returned just then and set Sansa’s glass in front of her.

Theon resumed his flirting, asking the waitress to repeat her spiel about the daily specials. Sansa felt her nerves come back and wrung her hands in her lap—the two people in front of her could have been miles away. Eventually, the waitress turned back to her, blushing again, and Sansa heard herself asking for scrambled eggs and wheat toast without bothering to open her menu. The waitress jotted down their orders and stepped away, leaving them alone again, which was when the thing that needed saying so someone else in the world would know it just fell out of Sansa’s mouth.

“I’m pregnant.”

Theon’s coffee cup had been halfway to his mouth. He started to laugh, thinking she was joking, but the sound never came out because one look at her expression and he could see that it was no jest. After a momentary pause, he took a small sip and set the cup back down. “Shit,” he said quietly. “Are you sure?”

Sansa nodded. “Saw the doctor yesterday."

“Who’s the guy?”

Sans sighed, annoyed. “Really? Why in the world would I tell you first?”

Realization came over him. “Me!?!”

“Yes, you! There hasn’t been anyone else all year. I said so that night. As you may recall, that was part of the reason it happened in the first place.”

Theon rubbed his face into his hands. “I know we didn’t have a condom,” he said, “but you said that wasn’t an issue.”

Sansa nodded. “I know. My IUD. Apparently, they can fall out. We got _un-_ lucky.”

“Fuck,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Yep.”

Her quiet voice seemed to have shook him because he sat up quickly. “Shit, sorry. I’m doing this wrong. Are you all right?”

“Let’s see, I’m 23 years old, a year out of university, still living with my parents, and the first time I decide to have sex with someone who is not my boyfriend, I get knocked up. So, you know, doing great.”

Theon put his hand out, gesturing for her to take it, and squeezing her hand gently when she did. “Well, life does tend to disappoint after sex with me. You wouldn’t be the first to say so.”

Sansa let go his hand to pinch him. “Seriously?”

“Ow!”

Then, all of a sudden, they both laughed, and for a moment, Sansa felt slightly better. He was still the carefree goofball friend. He would probably always be that guy, and there was comfort in it. The dumb humor, the irrepressible flirt—it was comforting her right now.

“Are you thinking about getting an abortion?” Theon asked quietly. “I’m not saying you should or you have to or anything—just asking. I’ll support whatever you decide.”

“No.” She paused. “I don’t know. I suppose that would be the smart thing to do, given everything I just said about the current state of my life.”

“But you don’t want to?”

“I’m not against it or anything. I just . . . I’ve always wanted to be a mom. It’s the one thing I’ve always been sure of. I didn’t want it to be like _this_ , but I still want it.”

“And you can still have it, Sansa. Now or later.”

Sansa smiled sadly. “I don’t even know why it should matter that much how it happens. I know the romantic girl I used to be was mostly an idiot, but I guess a part of me was still hanging on to that mom-dad-two-point-five-kids-perfect-house image in my head.”

“Again, at the risk of sounding like I’m trying to talk you into something, not now doesn’t mean not ever. You said it yourself. You’re young. I can list half a dozen guys and few women who would punch their mothers for a chance to buy you coffee.”

Sansa laughed in spite of herself. “Shut up.”

“The right person for you is out there. In fact . . . ” he trailed off.

“In fact, what?” Sansa asked, noticing that Theon seemed extra nervous all of a sudden.

“Shit. Marriage. That’s what you want! OK, uh, I guess I have to ask. Do you want to marry me?”

“What? Theon, no!” She rubbed her eyes, laughing again. “That’s the last thing, I want.”

Theon sat back, visibly relieved. “Thank the gods.”

“No offense,” Sansa offered with a smile. “Meant or taken.”

Theon smiled back. “Same. The world must see a bachelor of three score again. I know Benedick says that in Much Ado and then immediately proceeds to want to marry Beatrice, but it’s a solid notion.”

“You’re referencing Shakespeare—are you sure you’re not trying to woo me right now?”

Theon smiled, Sansa could see something serious behind his eyes. “Your grace is too costly to wear everyday.”

“I’m not too good for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

He looked down for a moment and let out a long breath. “We’re goldilocks, you and me,” he said. “There’s such a thing as too much or too little. But this? Right here? Friends who occasionally break bread together and have inside jokes. This is just right.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again. “It is. But, look, whatever happens, we need to be totally honest with each other. I don’t want to worry about our relationship status. We’re friends and, you’re right, that is the best. Let’s not mess with it."

“I hear you. Plus, I think we established that night that we’d drive each other crazy and what would our kid do if we were both institutionalized?”

“Is that your way of saying you want to keep it?” Sansa said with a laugh, surprised at how weirdly hopeful she sounded to herself.

Theon took Sansa’s hands in both of his. “I will go along with whatever you decide, and if you just want to hit the reset button, I’ll go be there for you.”

She nodded.

“But . . . I’m guessing if you were even considering that you’d have done it already.”

Sansa felt her eyes well up all of a sudden. “Theon—“

“So I guess we’re having a kid . . . Wow.”

Sansa tried to take a breath, but it came out as a sob.

“Hey, it’s going to be OK,” he said quietly. “We got this."

Sansa wiped at her cheeks, feeling foolish but also, oddly enough, relieved, happy, even a little excited. The hardest thing in front of her—the decision—was now behind her. Now came everything else, but for some reason, it didn't seem daunting. There might be reason for her to be sad, but none of it would outweigh the baby who would eventually always be the reason she was happy. Previous disappointments and disillusionments hadn’t gone away, but they were now part of the life that came before this moment and no matter how hard it might still be at times, all she would focus on from now on was what would come after. She took a couple of deep breaths, and the tears were gone.

“You’re really sure you’re going to be OK being a father?” she said finally.

“No,” Theon said with a shrug, “but it doesn’t really matter. With our killer combination of genes, this kid is going to be so super clever and awesome, they’ll probably come out of the womb mature enough to be _my_ parent.”

“If that’s your way of saying you have the maturity of a baby, then I agree with that.”

Looking down for a moment, Theon said. “I’ll put in the effort, OK? I’ll do whatever you need. Assuming, of course, I recover from the inevitable pummeling that’s sure to come my way from any number of our relatives and friends.”

Sansa laughed. “I’ll tell Robb to go easy on you.”

“Oh, Sansa. Robb’s not the one I’m really worried about.”

* * *

An hour later, they walked out of the restaurant, not having discussed much else after the life-changing agreement they had come to. This decision behind them, Sansa felt like there were a million more to make, but she pushed them out of her mind for the moment, wanting to keep the memory of this meal a good and happy one. The inevitable stress could wait.

As they walked, Theon playfully waved the receipt on which the waitress had, indeed, written her number. “Your boy still got it!”

Sansa shook her head and laughed. “Are you going to call her?”

“Naturally! Theon Greyjoy keeps his promises, thank you very much. . . . unless—you don’t mind, do you?”

“No, but please insist on a condom this time. It’s going to be hard enough to get you to focus on one kid at a time. In fact, I will buy them for you.”

“Are you kidding? I’m scheduling a fucking vasectomy tomorrow.”

* * *

For a very short time—only three days, in fact—it was just their secret. Sansa had wanted to wait until she was past the the point doctors recommended waiting to tell people. Even if this hadn’t been a planned pregnancy, she was happy and still wanted to go through the motions the way she was supposed to. There was also the benefit of putting off telling her parents and friends. That all went out the window, however, when her sister barged into Sansa’s room after a night out and caught her looking at a website about early pregnancy. Arya’s shock registered loudly enough for their younger brothers to hear in the next room. There was no real point in trying to contain it after that.

Sansa talked with her parents that very night, and she regretted the mostly supportive conversation only in that the start of it felt like she was confessing some great sin. It was past midnight when she finally went to bed, exhausted, so she let herself sleep in the next day. By the time woke up, it felt like just about everyone else in her life knew. Sansa’s friends were in the same small, tightly knit group that also included Robb’s friends and, increasingly over the last couple of years, Arya’s. They had all grown up together and any differences in age that might have meant a lot in high school—the three years between Robb and Sansa, for one—meant very little now that they were all back home after college. Any piece of gossip tended to spread like wildfire over their group texts and this was no exception.

The pregnancy making itself known meant, of course, that she had to smooth things over between Theon and Robb, which she did mostly by reiterating to her big brother what she had told her parents. Namely, that even if unexpected, this was a turn in her life that she could handle, that she wanted to be allowed to be happy about even, if the people in her life would just let her move past the surprise and not hold her previous young girl dreams of a perfect family against her. But her own satisfaction with the decision did little to help everyone else get used to it.That became a theme over the next few weeks as she neared the end of the first trimester. People’s instinctual response to her situation was pity, despite the fact that she was adult with a stable PR job and fully capable of taking on motherhood now that she had chosen to do so. (Living with her parents for the sake of saving money, however, was an arrangement that now needed serious reconsideration.) It took every ounce of Sansa’s energy to talk everyone among her family and her close friends out of their shock, if not their disappointment, and assure them that, yes, she and Theon had put all romantic implications and complications behind them, as well as insist that, yes, she was sure this was what she wanted to do.

Noticing the extent to which this seemed to wear on Sansa in that time, Arya offered to throw her and Theon a party, choosing Jon’s house—where Theon and Robb also lived—not so much because Sansa’s baby’s father also lived there but because Jon’s house was where parties always happened.

(In fact, it had been where _that night_ had also taken place.)

When Sansa showed up, it felt at first like the same party they always threw, with the same people—the Tyrells, Jeyne Poole, some Freys, some Karstarks, Gendry and Hot Pie, and a few others—scattered everywhere chatting about their jobs or school or the weather over beer and wine and either The Killers or or Bruce Springsteen playing. Sansa was greeted by Theon’s sister, Yara, who immediately pointed to two huge banners she and Arya had printed out and hung in the living room.

“Put on your helmets on, Theon has procreated” courtesy of Yara.

“You’re getting another Stark, world! #BLESSED” courtesy of Arya.

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh, at the competing signs, at the onesie with “Oops Baby” printed across the front that they had also tacked to the wall, and at the back-and-forth between the two young women over who would be the kid’s favorite aunt.

The banners inadvertently put a spotlight on the question of the baby’s last name, but knowing everyone would have questions, Sansa had prepared herself and Theon to be ready with answers:

They would co-parent, but she would have primary custody.

Arya would take the role of back-up birthing coach, in the moderately likely event that Theon would pass out mid-labor. 

The baby would take Sansa’s last name and live with her—wherever that would be, ideally not her parents’ house.

After a while the overwhelming smells of alcohol and pizza—not to mention the never-ending fatigue—got to her, and Sansa escaped to the back deck for a minute of fresh air and a moment to herself. When she stepped outside, however, she found none other than Jon sitting by himself on the top of the stairs that led down to the house’s small yard. She watched him for a quiet minute. His back was to her, but he was turned such that she could see the start of his profile and enjoyed the view: his handsome jawline, the natural pout of his lips, his overall default look of concern that gave a clue to the thoughtful person he had grown up into. Of all the people near her age that she spent any sort of time with, Jon Snow was the only one who actually had the aura of a proper adult. He didn’t just have a job, he had a title: architect. And he owned the house outright, it having been left to him by a mostly absent father who had given him nothing else in life, so in a way it was also a reminder of the difficult and emotional childhood that he had overcome.

Sansa wasn’t sure how long she had been watching him when he turned his head slightly and saw her there.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied, offering a wave, which immediately made her feel stupid.

She realized then that not only had she not seen him in weeks, she hadn’t had a proper conversation alone with him even longer. “Where’s Dany tonight?”

Jon looked confused for a moment. “Oh, I guess you don’t know. She and I aren’t together anymore.”

“What?”

“It’s actually been a few weeks.”

“How did I miss that?

“It’s probably fair to say other things have been on your mind,” he said with a half smile. He gestured for her sit down on the step next to him.

Sansa blushed. “Still, that’s big. How many years was it?”

“Three.”

After rather pointlessly swiping at the step to clear it off, she sat facing him, back to the railing, mirroring his position, about a foot of space between them. “I was kind of under the impression she was the one,” she said.

Jon chuckled. “Not by a long shot.”

The finality of his words surprised her and she wondered how she could have misread things, misread him, so much.

But, of course, it wasn’t just Jon that she’d misread. Thinking back on it now, _that night_ would be remembered for how she and Theon ended it, but at the start there was Dany, mixing drinks in celebration of Jon having passed his architectural licensing exam and whispering to one of her friends about how the next party she threw would be an engagement party. Sansa remembered always thinking how everything Dany ever said felt like a performance, a way of asserting herself and reminding people of her name and status, but for whatever reason—OK, _jealousy_ —that one utterance, Sansa took at face value. Hearing it felt like a light dimmed. It changed her night, and now, three months later, she was the one who had ended up with the lifetime commitment. Only it was to a child. And Jon Snow was sitting next to her gorgeous and single.

“I met her the week before the start of the three busiest years of my life,” he said. “Between work and getting ready for my licensing exam, I was basically on auto-pilot the whole time for everything else in my life. When I was finally on the other side of it, I realized our frames of mind were very different. It got pretty ugly.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jon shrugged. “I was the asshole in the equation.”

Sansa shook her head. “Jon, that is the last thing you are.”

Looking away, Jon swirled the inch of beer at the bottom of the beer stein in his hand. Sansa recognized it as part of the set she had given him years ago, when he turned 21. “I wasn’t paying attention or considering anything other than getting through work. In retrospect, being in a relationship at the same time was a significant lapse in judgment.”

“Well, now that I can say it without offending you, I always thought she was definitely not worthy of you.”

He smiled. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

He looked at her with eyes that looked as if they would see right through her. “So . . . Theon, huh?”

Sansa bit her lip and looked away. “Speaking of lapses in judgment.”

“You know, as much shit as I give him, he’s a good guy. There are a lot more guys out there who are worse than Theon then there are better.”

“If you had told me years ago that I was going to end up pregnant with Theon’s baby, I’d have slapped you silly. Now . . . it seems funny to say it, but among the men that make up my sorry history, he’s actually at the top of the stack.”

“Scary thought.”

Sans laughed. “I know.”

Jon took a deep breath and looked out into the yard again, the light of the setting sun almost gone. “Well, maybe it’ll sound sarcastic, but I do mean it when I say this: congratulations.”

Sansa’s face blossomed into a bright smile. She was so thoroughly touched by his sincerity, in fact, that even as she was smiling, tears sprung from her eyes. Embarrassed, Sansa quickly looked away and started wiping at her face with both her hands.

Alarmed, Jon spoke up. “Hey, hey, hey.”

He slid over, in her space in a way that was rare for him, and put his hand on her back. She kept her face in her hands, leaning her elbows on her knees, not to cry so much as to enjoy the warmth of his touch.

“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “That was maybe the wrong thing to say?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, finally lowering her hands. She still didn’t want to turn toward him, but only because she was afraid of how close he would be if she did. “The opposite. Nobody has said that to me yet. It was nice to hear.”

“Really?”

“I mean . . . I get it. This is not exactly the way it’s supposed to happen.”

“If there’s a right way, it’s not how my parents did it either. My mom was 22 and my dad was married.” He laughed. “I was just about to say, ‘and look how well I turned out,’ but that’s probably still a bit of an open question at this point.”

Turning to him, she said. “You are amazing, Jon Snow. And, I hadn’t thought about it like that until just now, but I am officially reassured.”

He smiled and seeing his eyes crinkle like they did this close up almost made Sansa want to start crying again. In a different life, she might have lunged at his lips just then, finally taste him in a way she only ever fantasized about. But this was not that life. The impulses of a carefree girl were no longer ones she could act on.

He blushed slightly under the scrutiny of her stare and looked away. “This party is supposed to be celebratory, isn’t it? You should have a drink in your hand.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, did you forget I’m pregnant?”

“Definitely not,” he said with a sigh. “Hold on.”

He stood up and went inside, leaving Sansa to take some much needed deep breaths to calm herself. She stood up and walked up onto the porch proper again. Within a minute he was backwith a bottle that looked suspiciously like champagne, but upon closer inspection was only bubbly apple cider.

“Mother, save me,” she said with a laugh. “Did you buy this?”

“Of course. As you just pointed out, you’re with child. Here.” He handed her a champagne flute and opened the bottle, shaking it up so that it sprayed out at little the way champagne would, making Sansa laugh.

“Wow!”

He poured it into the flute and looked at her expectantly.

“You need to have some too!” she said. “I can’t toast by myself!”

“All right,” he said with a sweet eye roll. He found the beer glass he’d been drinking from, dumped out what was left off the deck into the grass below and poured himself some of the bubbly cider.

“Cheers,” Sansa said when he was ready.

“Cheers,” Jon said, clinking his glass with hers. “To your good health—both of you.”

Sansa put her hand on her abdomen. “We both thank you,” she said before taking a drink. “Oh this is good!”

“Are you feeling properly celebratory now?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied with a smile. “If you could just solve my living situation. I’d be all set.”

“Your parents are kicking you out?”

“I’m kicking myself out. I love them, and it’s been nice not having to worry about rent, but I’m definitely going to need my own space for this.”

“Just you and the baby?” Jon asked.

Sansa shrugged. “I’m not going to live with a roommate I don’t know well. None of my friends are in a position to move, and living with a newborn would be a lot to ask anyway. I don’t want to be by myself, but living with Theon is out of the question because I would murder him.”

Jon laughed at that last comment. “I can relate.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Sansa said, sipping on her cider. "I love him, but he's like an untrainable puppy."

“Having another roommate helps. When a pair of us gets into it, there’s always someone to act as a buffer.”

“I’m going try to talk Arya into getting a place together.”

“You could move in here.”

Sansa laughed. “Very funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

“Everything!”

Jon pushed off the deck railing where he’d been leaning and looked around as if appraising the situation. “Let’s see, a Victorian rowhouse, nice design, solid construction, a yard, good neighborhood and school district. What’s not to like?”

Sansa looked at him smiling, but with suspicion. “Yes, that all sounds wonderful, but are you forgetting the fact that people already live here? Are you planning to vacate?”

“Just move in with us.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have the room, for starters.”

“I’ll build you a room.”

“Jon . . . “

“Sansa . . . “

She bit her lip. He was clearly serious. “How would it even work?”

Taking her hand, he led her down the deck stairs into the yard and turned back to face the house. “See that there?” he asked pointing to the door underneath the stairs.

“Yes?”

“It’s a 500-square-foot unfinished basement or what an ambitious realtor would call a charming garden-level apartment. I’ll make it a walk-out, reconfigure the stairs inside to make it a split-level with the first floor, put a retractable divider in so you and the baby each have your own space when you want it, a sliding glass door facing out to the yard so you have good natural light, and a big window seat. I have a couple of contractors who owe me favors. It'll be done in six months.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that—and I certainly couldn’t pay you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering, and even if you could pay me, I’d just put it in a savings account with your baby’s name on it, which is what I will do with any rent you offer to pay.”

“You would really do all of that?”

He shrugged and looked down at the ground. “You shouldn’t go through this by yourself. This way Theon will be around and so will Robb and I. Baby by committee.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“It will be. I’m pretty good at my job.”

Without thinking, Sansa threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. She closed her eyes as she felt his hands tentatively press against her lower back.

“Is that a yes?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not pulling away just yet so you don’t see me cry again,” she said into his neck.

“That’s fair,” he replied, hugging her just a little bit tighter.

Hearing people coming onto the porch above them, they finally broke apart. Jon moved to come back up the stairs, but Sansa tugged at his arm.

“Are you really sure?” she whispered.

As Jon nodded, Robb appeared at the top of the stairs. “Here they are! Sorry, Snow, too late to make a move now. She’s already knocked up.”

Feeling way too full of just about every emotion to think too hard about what Robb had just said, or the glare Jon threw him in response, Sansa took a few deep breaths before following Jon back up to the deck.

“What were you guys doing out here?” Theon asked, refilling Sansa’s not-champagne for her.

“I was telling Sansa about how I’m going to redo the basement.”

“Yes! Finally!” Robb said, “We need a proper man-cave.”

“Actually, it’s going to be a nursery,” Jon said.

“Like, for plants?” Theon asked.

“A baby nursery, you idiot,” Jon said.

Robb looked back and forth between them, confused. “Wait, what?”

Jon turned to Sansa and raised his eyebrows in question.

She smiled and raised her drink. “Cheers, boys! I’m moving in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's move-in day for Sansa, and Jon is feeling a lot of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered writing this entirely from Sansa's point of view, but how can we achieve peak angst without getting inside Jon's head? So that's what happens in this chapter—a little more background on his relationship that just ended and where his head is at, months after the events of the first chapter, on the day Sansa is to move in. Hope you enjoy!

With help from Robb, Theon, Yara and Ned, Jon had finished painting, installing the last of the built-ins and arranging furniture in the newly finished basement late into the night two nights ago, just ahead of Sansa’s official move today. Her due date was not for another two weeks, but she was eager to settle in before the “fifth roommate”—as the boys had started referring to the baby girl—would arrive. Arya and Gendry had showed up early that morning with Sansa’s suitcases and boxes and some decorations to help make the place look festive for the gathering of family and friends that was going to serve as quasi-house-warming-slash-baby-shower. Robb and Theon had been grilling burgers and hotdogs in the backyard for the last half-hour. Sansa would be arriving any minute now with her parents and youngest brothers.

“How many balloons is that?” Jon asked, looking at the huge arrangement of them that Arya had brought with her and was now trying to tie to the new crib.

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug. “I told them to make it big.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?” Jon asked.

“Compared to literally building my sister an apartment? No, I don’t think it’s too much.”

Jon frowned. “Shut up,” he mumbled, now wishing he hadn’t said anything but glad that they were alone at least. He’d been ignoring Robb and Arya’s pointed looks and off-hand comments for months. With Sansa moving in, it was only going to get worse.

Arya laughed at him, of course. “You could just talk to her,” she said. “As far as declarations go, this is actually really good, but explaining why you did it by telling her the truth might help.”

Jon laughed too, but humorlessly. “Oh, you want to hear the truth? I _didn’t_ just do this for Sansa.”

“Please!"

“I doubled the value of my house, I added an interesting project to my residential portfolio, and during the process the contractor’s secretary asked me out.”

Arya crossed her arms. “Did you say yes?”

“Well, no, but I want to work with him again and it would be weird.” 

“Right,” she deadpanned.

Jon sighed. “What do you want from me, Arya?”

“I want you to admit how you feel! How you have felt since we were kids!”

“I was in a long-term relationship, _for three years._ Do you really believe I was pining for someone else the entire time?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He felt Arya put her hand on his shoulder and when he opened his eyes again, her expression had changed. The know-it-all smirk was gone, replaced by a softer smile, an understanding one.

“Your heart wasn’t in it,” she said, “and it was easy enough for you to blame work because work was legitimately an issue, but it was also just a good excuse. That doesn’t make you a terrible person, just someone who occasionally has trouble articulating your feelings. I’m here to help.”

It was scary how right she was—not that Jon was ever going to say that out loud.

Technically, Jon still considered Robb his best friend, but over the last few years Arya had become something of a confidant, if only because she could wrestle his feelings out of him in a way few others could with her unique brand of tough love. It had been acting on her advice (“You need to fish or cut bait!”) that he finally did what he had been avoiding for so long andconfronted the truth about the state of his former relationship.

To this day, Jon remained somewhat baffled by Daenerys Targaryan’s interest in him and why she stayed with him as long as she did. Theon had made a joke once that his broody, “withholding” nature Jon presented a challenge for Dany, the rich and richly ambitious daughter of a political family from down south who was such a head-turner that even with almost no effort on her part, men were usually willing to kneel on command. There had been plenty of good and fun times between them at the start, but she had never been his priority, and he assumed— _expected_ —at many points during their time together that she would just get bored and leave.

The ugly truth was that in not seeing how invested she’d become, even if unintentionally so, he’d strung her along. There was no small amount of bitterness at the end. Jon didn’t regret the break up, but knowing it was mostly his fault that it ended so badly, he didn’t like what it said about him. Now, almost a year later, he no longer felt guilty, but he didn’t quite feel whole either. Meanwhile, Arya was still the tiny angel/devil on his shoulder not so gently telling him to get his shit together. Despite Theon’s suggestions to the contrary, “withholding” was the last thing Jon Snow was. He would do anything for the people he loved, as evidenced by the whole build-Sansa-an-apartment-inside-my-house project, but he had never managed to love Dany.

Arya’s affirmations aside, Jon knew Sansa wasn’t the reason for that. Yes, she was beautiful and smart and funny and sweet and every descriptor he’d want in a girlfriend/future wife, and, yes, he had thought this more or less the entire time he had known her, which was most of his life, but at the end of the day, before all of this had happened, they had never been all that close. Whether that was by Jon's design or Sansa's, it was hard to say. As kids, they’d been rather wary with each other, and as they had gotten older, that didn’t really change. They were around each other often enough, but life seemed to keep pulling them in odd, not necessarily compatible directions. Her surprise pregnancy with Theon of all people was the single biggest example, happening at the precise moment Jon might have considered taking a chance with her. The possibility, once he heard the news, was given no chance to root in his mind. Her life was about to be very complicated and he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ make that worse.

The offer to move in had been an impulse as much as anything else, but sincerely driven by the notion that if a friend was all he was ever going to be, he may as well be a really good one.

He thought about all of this with Arya’s eyes still on him. Finally, he said. “She’s having a baby.”

Arya sighed. “Your timing’s not great. That’s much is true, but—”

“Having a baby. With. My. Roommate. It’s not a case of bad timing, Arya. It’s just not meant to be.”

Arya looked at him in a way that suggested she didn’t believe him, but mercifully, she let it go.

Above them, voices could be heard coming down the stairs.

“So you haven’t seen it in how long?”

“About two weeks, I think.”

It was Catelyn and Sansa, who were coming down the new steps off the kitchen upstairs, which now featured bookshelves along the wall all the way down. Ned and the boys had gone through the kitchen to the deck and could already be heard walking down to the yard.

But Catelyn and Sansa hadn’t seen the finished space yet, and by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs to the basement, both had tears in their eyes.

Sansa had involved herself as much as she could in the work, giving Jon’s drawings of the layout her official approval, joining his meetings with the contractor and helping choose colors and finishes, but the last couple of weeks, work had gotten busier in anticipation of her upcoming maternity leave and she hadn’t been around as much. In that time, the basement apartment had gone from looking like a construction site to looking like a place someone could live. Margaery had come over the day before, once the paint was dry, to bring a vase of flowers for her bedside table and to hang a few pictures. Indeed, the fact that so many people had pitched in at the end to make this a kind of surprise reveal made Jon feel marginally less self-conscious about his own effort on Sansa's behalf. Not that it had been hard. Not that he wouldn’t do it all over again. The process had made them closer friends than they’d ever been, and no matter what wouldn't happen between then, he was glad for that.

The final touch, the crib, had been assembled that very morning by Robb and Theon, who had almost come to blows over the thing, much to Jon, Arya and Gendry’s amusement.

“I must say Jon,” Catelyn said, “I was skeptical about the idea of my first grandchild living with you three boys, but you’ve done wonders with this space. If anyone I know is going to be building anything in the near future, I’ll be sure to point them in your direction.”

“Thank you.” He looked down, a bit embarrassed by praise from a woman he usually felt intimidated by, so he missed Sansa gesturing to Arya to give them a moment alone, which she did in her usual Arya way.

“Do you want to go outside, mom? Sansa wants to gush about how good everything looks and probably needs a moment alone so she doesn’t embarrass herself.”

Catelyn rolled her eyes but followed her daughter as she pulled her to the sliding glass doors that opened into the back yard. “Did Gendry bring his famous Bloody Mary’s?” 

“Like I would have let him in otherwise,” Arya said as she slid the door closed behind her.

Jon and Sansa both laughed. When their eyes met, she said, “I really, really miss alcohol.”

“You could have a Virgin Mary,” Jon said.

“What fun is that?”

He smiled and looked down again.

“I’m not really sure I have words for all of this,” she said quietly.

“You really don’t have to say anything.”

She walked over to put her hands on the railing of the crib, which was nestled into a nook created by the stairs, adjacent to it was a long built-in table and shelves meant to serve as a changing table now but designed to be a versatile space she could do something else with later on. Stepping away again she looked over everything else: her own bathroom, a Murphy bed that could be tucked away into a wardrobe built into the wall to create instant floor space for the baby to play, and—her favorite feature—the window seat, next to the sliding door, also facing the yard. Although Sansa didn't know this, Jon had measured it out such that she would be able to sit on it with her long legs extended out.

He watched as she took it all in, doing a full 360 degree turn, at the end of which she was facing him teary-eyed again.

She wasn’t sure what to say and neither was he, so he was grateful when she chose to break the ice by saying, “That is a lot of balloons.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You know Arya—go big or go home.”

“I brought you something,” Sansa said, walking back over to the bottom of the stairs where she’d left a large shopping bag.

“Oh, you didn’t—“

“Didn’t have to?” she cut in playfully. “Neither did you.”

“Touché.”

She handed him the bag and when he noticed there were several things inside. “There’s more than one thing in here,” he said.

Sansa nodded. “Go ahead.”

Jon reached for the biggest box first, and actually laughed in delight when he took the wrapping paper off saw what it was: the official Winterfell Castle Lego set. “Gods! I’ve always wanted to build this!”

Sansa grinned. “Robb suggested Legos. I knew you always liked putting his sets together when we were kids and I feel kind of stupid that I didn’t make that connection. There’s actually a ton of famous Westerosi castles and buildings that you can buy. Legos for architects. Who knew?”

“This is awesome. Thank you.”

“There’s one more,” she said pointing to the bag. “I mean one more Lego set. And two other presents on top of that. OK, so maybe I did go overboard, but again . . .” She gestured to the space around them.

The second set was Cinderella’s castle. Jon raised his eyebrows at her in question.

“I thought you could save that one to do with the baby.” Laughing at herself, she added, “I know not right away, obviously, but I thought . . . eventually, once she develops the appropriate fine motor skills.”

Smiling, he said, “This says for ages six and up. You plan on living here that long?”

“Are you kidding? You literally built my happy place. With apologies to your future wife, I’m never moving out.”

Jon felt warmth come over his cheeks and bent down to grab another of the unwrapped gifts in the box in the hope she wouldn’t notice him blushing. But honestly, the next gift just would make the blushing much worse.

It was a book of fairytales.

Sansa bit her lip, clearly nervous in a way she hadn’t been until just now. “So I’m the mom, Theon’s the dad—Gods, help me. Robb is the uncle, and you’re—“

“The random extra person?” he filled in.

“Title to be determined,” she said quietly, “but for the time being, I thought . . . official bedtime reader?”

Jon could barely form words, but managed: “Really?”

Shrugging and looking adorably embarrassed, she said. “It occurred to me that you being you, you will want to help but won’t ever try to impose your help on me. And me being me, exhaustion will likely make me a little crazy and I won’t always know how or when to ask for help, so I thought this way, I could have a little me time at the end of the day and you could have bonding time with the baby and . . . actually, only if you want. Wow, I can’t believe I assumed you’d even want to do that without asking first. I—“

Jon cut her off. “Sansa, I would love to.” That she’d said so much before he spoke up was owing to how floored he was that she would think of him like this—like someone she wanted to be an active part of her daughter’s life.

“OK,” she said, pink-cheeked. “Thank you. And you can stop at any time if you really don’t want to. And, for the record, I was kidding about living here forever. As much as I might want to, it’s your place, so don’t hesitate to tell me I need to go when you want me to move out.”

Jon only smiled, thinking it would be weird to vocalize the fact that he couldn’t imagine that ever being the case.

“The last one is kind of boring, in comparison,” she said of the last gift when he opened it, a watch. Still, it was as nice a watch as he had ever owned, and he put it on immediately.

After putting all the wrapping paper back in the back and leaving the book and the Lego sets at the bottom of the stairs, he turned to her again and felt overwhelmed by the softness of her expression. Impending motherhood looked so good on her. There was the glow everyone always talked about, but more than that, she had figured out who she was. There was a confidence to Sansa that hadn’t been there before. Yes, she was in an odd situation for a young woman, but she’d turned it into something special. In spite of it all, it was clear she was exactly where she wanted to be. In the back of his mind, on only rare occasions, Jon felt jealous that Theon got to be part of what turned that light on in her, but despite any previous cluelessness when it came to his relationships, Jon knew that in this case, he would never begrudge either Sansa or Theon the happiness that their child would bring into their lives. And if that led to something else between them (Jon had seen a rom-com or two before), he wouldn’t begrudge them that either.

He would have pulled her into a hug just then, but that had gotten increasingly hard for her with just how big her pregnancy bump was, so instead he took her hand in his and squeezed it.

“Welcome home, Sansa.”

She gave him a smile that was practically blinding. Then, after a second, her eyes lit up in an unexpected way, and she put his hand on the side of her belly. “I think she heard you!”

He held his breath as she sandwiched his hand between her own and her abdomen.

“Say hi, baby,” she said.

Jon felt the strange sensation of Sansa’s belly pushing back against him. “Holy shit. Is that her moving?”

Sansa grinned and nodded. “Baby, this is Jon. You haven’t been properly introduced yet, but he’s our fairy godmother.” Looking back up to Jon, she added. “We’ll keep working on your title.”

As they looked at each other, Jon’s hand still on Sansa and her baby, and her hand still on his, Jon wished he could hit pause on his life and just live in this moment for a while.

Hearing the sliding doors open, they both turned and saw Arya.

“These Mary's are potent, and mom’s already halfway to drunk, so let’s start this shin-dig.”

Eventually, Theon’s parents and a few more of their friends showed up. After everyone had eaten, Theon and Sansa opened a huge pile of presents befitting the fact that this baby was the first of a new generation on both sides of her family tree. Later, everyone who hadn’t already got a chance to ooh and ah over the new basement as all the gifts were brought inside.

Motivations aside, Jon was really proud of how it had turned out and took the compliments in stride. The whole day, in fact, he thought how terribly weird it was that he could be just a single guy, not an official part of either of the two families gathered, with almost no family of his own, and feel as happy as he was. 

Feel, for the first time in a long time, _whole_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving credit where it is due and in continuing homage to the inspiration for this story: The "fish or cut bait" line is in Three Men and a Little Lady and, of course, refers to the point in a long-term relationship where you decide to either get married or end things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birth story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up a few weeks from where the last chapter ends and features the baby’s birth story. 
> 
> I feel like I keep saying that this will take place mostly when the baby is a little girl, and it will! The next chapter will jump a few months ahead and then the one after that will jump several years ahead for reasons that (I hope) make sense once it’s all done.
> 
> Although it may feel like I’m setting this up like a love triangle, it’s not. That doesn’t mean that Jon and Theon don’t have some issues to work out. Some of that gets set up here. 
> 
> Also, if you’re wondering whether this birth story is “realistic,” I have given birth to two children so I have experienced something similar but I have found that experiences among women vary considerably. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please comment to let me know what you think.

“I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Margaery stepped back as Sansa, instead of letting her in, closed the sliding door into the basement apartment behind her. “What are you talking about?” Margaery replied. “You’re totally pulling off this outfit. Crop top, leggings and a plaid blazer? Honestly, San, it’s not fair how cute you make pregnancy look.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I need a walk.”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting down, complaining about how swollen your feet are?”

“My OB says walking will help the baby drop.”

“The same OB who said the baby would be born last week?”

“I’m only three days past my due date, and you’re not listening. Don’t you want to know what the huge mistake is?”

“OK, tell me.”

“Oh, wait,” Sansa said. They had just reached the gate at the end of the backyard and footsteps could be heard on the other side of it.

The gate led to an alley once used for horse carriages that became a footpath in the middle of the block that neighbors used as a shortcut to the neighboring park, a large open space ringed by old trees with a playground and basketball court on the near end that Sansa now took daily walks to and looked forward to continuing with baby and stroller. (Jon hadn’t been kidding or exaggerating when he’d told Sansa the neighborhood was perfect for raising kids.)

A half-second later Robb and Jon opened the gate, shirtless and sweaty from a run.

“Oh, hey,” Robb said, on seeing them. “What’s up?”

“Just going for a walk,” Sansa said, quickly grabbing Margery’s arm and pushing past them.

“Goodness, Snow, put those away, there's a child here!” she said, waving at his midsection as she passed him.

“What?” he responded.

“I got abs, too, Marge!” Robb said.

“You wish!”

Sansa heard her brother yell back, “Everyone has abs. It’s literally human anatomy!” and the distinct sound of Jon trying to muffle his laughter. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Her cheeks had flushed at the sight of him, but honestly, her whole body had been feeling ten degrees too hot for the last month, so it wasn’t like anyone could even notice at this point. When the two girls got to the end of the block, Sansa looked both ways before crossing the street and noticed Margaery’s knowing look.

“Let me guess, it was a mistake to have to be confronted by that everyday?”

Sansa sighed. “Yes.”

Margaery practically cackled.

“Thanks for enjoying my pain,” she said as they crossed into the park.

“Please! You have a brand-new, amazing place to live that was actually built to your taste, three boys at your beck and call and, as I just mentioned, a super cute, not-bloated pregnancy body. Where is this so-called pain coming from?”

Sansa laughed back and covered her face with her hands. “Ugh, I’m sure I sound like a spoiled brat, and I knew what I was getting into, but I thought with my own bathroom, seeing Jon mostly undressed was not something I was going to have to deal with all that often. He came into the kitchen this morning in just his pajama pants, with this adorable bed hair, and I seriously almost passed out just looking at him.”

“The problem is that the thing that’s supposed to take your attention isn’t here yet, but time will give you immunity.”

“You’d think.”

Margaery laughed. “Or you could just tell him you want to jump him, and he’ll no doubt agree and you can stop worrying about it.”

“Even if that were an option, I can’t exactly manage jumping right now and if I could, he’d probably be crushed under my weight.”

“What’s the new excuse for that not being an option? Because little Miss “My hair is naturally platinum” hasn’t been in the picture for quite a while now.”

“Last time I checked your average young, single eligible man isn’t trying to tie himself down with a baby.”

“Jon might. He asked you to move into his house! If it were me, I would accept the implied invitation into his bed as well.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I was in a bind, and he was being nice. Also, I moved in less than a month ago.”

“So what are you complaining about, exactly?”

With another sigh, Sansa said, “I don’t know. I’m just emotional. I want my baby to be born, but I’m scared. And I feel stupid because if I hadn’t acted on a rash impulse, then maybe, we would have had a shot. Then of course I feel guilty even thinking that because I shouldn’t be thinking about a missed opportunity with a guy right now. It’s not my baby’s fault, and that’s an easy segue to what a terrible mother I’ll make and—“

“Let me just stop you right there,” Margaery said grabbing Sansa’s arm so they could face each other. She could see that Sansa had started crying, which didn’t take much lately. “You are going to be amazing as a mom, and I know this because you’re everyone’s mom already. ‘What if’ is a game we all play, so you’re just being a human person. And if you’re not going to go for it with Jon now, that doesn’t have to be the end of everything! Maybe the timing isn’t right for anything else, but he’s clearly trying to be there for you as a supportive friend. Just accept it, swallow your pride and enjoy the view.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa replied in a sob. “Every feeling turns into a life crisis these days. I know that being hormonal is normal, but it’s just . . . a lot.”

“Waiting for the birth when you don’t know when it’ll happen must be hard, especially for someone who is so organized about everything. But this child is half Theon, which means you need to be willing to embrace the chaos she will inevitably bring.”

Sansa laughed, wiping the tears on her cheeks. “I know. Let’s just talk about something else.”

“This will make you feel better, Cersei actually misses you.”

“I don’t believe you because I don’t believe her capable of feeling any emotion whatsoever.”

“Well, believe it,” Margaery said with a laugh. “I think she didn’t realize how much you did to keep the office going day-to-day and resents you for it now that you’re on maternity leave.”

“She called me soft for wanting to start my leave early and said she was in the office finishing a proposal in labor with Joffrey until her water broke.”

“Further proof she’s not an actual human. Honestly, a person who runs a public relations firm should be better at hiding how much she hates everyone.”

“I’m sorry if it means she’s being extra mean to you.”

“Oh, darling, you know I thrive under pressure, especially with her. I’m buttering up all the good clients so they come with us when we finally strike out on our own.”

“One life-changing event at a time, please.”

“Not to worry, I have it handled. You just focus on making that baby come out. Have you picked a name yet?”

“No, I want to meet her first, but I have a list.”

“Has Theon contributed any names?”

“Yes, his sister’s, whom I love, but I’ll never hear the end of it from Arya, so a non-starter. I want something that’s simple and classic, but nothing feels right. I really do think I need to get a look at her first.”

“And no contractions yet?”

“Not real ones.”

The two friends walked and talked for another twenty minutes, before Sansa’s back started to ache. When they got back to the house, it was late in the afternoon. Margaery invited Sansa to dinner with her brother Lloras, who had his eye on a new piece who worked as a server in downtown Winter Town, but Sansa declined, feeling too tired and achy to bother with socializing. After saying her goodbyes to Margaery and promising to keep her in the loop on all things baby-arrival-related, Sansa climbed up the stairs to the living room, where Jon and Robb, both freshly showered, were watching a game of some sort on TV while eating leftover chili that Sansa had made for them the night before.

Robb was in the recliner with his feet up and Jon on one end of the long sofa with his feet on the wood trunk that served as their coffee table. Sansa sat on the other end of the couch, lowering herself down carefully and awkwardly.

“Where did Margaery go?” Robb asked.

“To meet her brother for dinner,” Sansa replied as she moved the pillows around her, not able to get comfortable.

“You two OK?” Jon asked with an amused smile.

Sansa put her hand on her belly, which now felt like a stretched-out balloon ready to pop, smiling at the way he always referred to her and the baby together. “I think we’re ready to take a break from each other.”

“By the way,” Robb said. “Theon is filling in for the manager and closing at the rec center, but said to call him if anything happened.”

Sansa nodded, but it turned into a grimace.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Jon asked again, this time with an air of concern. “Do you want us to call him or get you anything?”

“It’s just some back spasms,” Sansa replied. “I shouldn’t have gone for that walk. My back is killing me now.” Suddenly feeling restless and nervous, she stood again—hard as that was—and walked to the kitchen. Her intention was to grab an ice pack, but the sharp pain she was feeling in her back seized her again and spread across her entire midsection. She stopped to lean on the counter. Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then another.

Then, the pain was . . . not gone, exactly, but it was like the vice on the nerves in her lower back loosened. She took another breath and felt her eyes fill up with tears. Turning to see her wide-eyed brother watching her from in front of the sink, she said, “I’m fine.”

“I’m just going to go ahead and call Theon.”

“No, don’t! Let him finish the shift. Even if this is labor, I can’t go to the hospital until it’s further along.”

Robb gave her a skeptical look.

“Call Arya,” Sansa offered as a compromise. “She’ll help me get stuff ready.”

Robb grinned and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. After waiting a minute for Arya to answer, he greeted her by saying, “We’re having a baby!”

“What?! It’s time?” Jon said, having overheard. Sansa turned and saw him entering the kitchen with his empty dishes.

“I had what maybe possibly was a contraction, but who knows. We’re not calling Theon yet.”

He set down his dishes and came over to her. “OK, what do you need?”

“I’m fine!”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the way he crossed his arms and tilted his head, as if daring her to try to do all of this on her own. Margaery was right: She was the mother of the friend group. She was the one who took care of everyone, and she liked it. It was easy and fun, so why was it so hard to accept help?

Much as she might like to blame her nerves about her new living situation on the occasional run-in with a shirtless Jon, the thing she was really afraid of, the mistake she thought she might have made was accepting help from someone about whom her feelings were all over the place. She wanted Jon—that much had always been true—but she was afraid of needing him. This arrangement couldn’t be forever, and even though it had barely started, she was already dreading when it would inevitably have to end.

Before she could say more, Robb came over to stand next to Jon and crossed his arms in the same way and her smile turned into a laugh. She was outnumbered. “She’s on her way, and mum said to keep her up to date,” he said. “What do you need—and before you say ‘nothing,’ we’re just going to keep asking so . . .”

“Let’s start by sitting back down, shall we?” she said finally.

They went back into the living room, deciding to binge something on Netflix as a way to help pass the time while waiting to see if Sansa was, in fact, starting to get regular contractions. While Robb, back in the arm chair, looked for something to watch, Sansa sat down on the sofa. Again, she kept moving around, unable to find a comfortable position until Jon sat down next to her, then leaned over and pulled her legs onto his lap. The move took Sansa by surprise, and maybe it was just the feel of his hand casually resting on her shins while he kept vetoing Robb’s suggestions, but she finally let go the tension she was feeling and sank into the pillows. Seeing that had stopped fidgeting, Jon looked at her with a smirk that was too smug for its own good. Sansa lifted her leg and playfully kicked his chest, and a now grinning Jon grabbed her foot and set it back down on his lap, and she could only grin back in response, too comfortable now to question it.

Arya arrived about ten minutes into a period drama that the boys agreed to for Sansa’s sake, but that nobody was paying that much attention to. Arya hadn’t even set her overnight bag down before a second contraction hit Sansa.

Halfway through the third episode of the miniseries, when the contractions were still only about half a minute long and fifteen minutes apart, Theon came home and pizza was ordered.

By 11 p.m., the contractions had stopped altogether, and Arya and Sansa headed down to her apartment to try to get some rest.

The contractions came back a few hours later, too intense for Sansa to sleep, but not yet worth waking everyone up again. Arya, snoring next to her in the queen size bed, slept like the dead, but even so, Sansa didn’t want her fidgeting to disturb her. She managed to push herself up and come up the stairs into the kitchen, where she found Jon looking over some papers he’d spread out over the kitchen island. He was wearing a shirt, at least, but also his glasses, so really it was a wash. Sansa laughed at herself for being in this much pain, this sleep deprived and still unable to not think about how pretty he was.

It was the laugh that made him turn and notice her there. His assumption about why she was up was immediate, of course, but she responded before he could even get the words out.

“Don’t worry. It’s not time yet. I am having contractions again, which is why I can’t sleep, but they’re still too short and too far apart. What’s your excuse?”

He chuckled. “Work as always.”

Sansa waddled over and sat down in to the stool next to his. “Is work actually that busy that you have to be up at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night or are you just a workaholic?”

“Both?”

Sansa laughed, but it turned into a grimace as another contraction hit her. She took several deep breaths, eyes closed, to try to relax her body as much as possible. When it subsided, about half a minute later, there was a glass of water sitting in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said, still panting. She smiled at the concern in his sweet eyes. “So . . . what are you working on?”

He scratched his head, looking back at all the papers. “If you’re looking to go back the sleep, this might do that trick.” He dug under the papers for a photo and showed it to her. “This house is more than a hundred years old. The couple who just bought it want to build their dream house but after meeting with them, I’d characterize it more as an acid trip than a dream. They came in thinking we’d scrape it and start from scratch—”

“But this is gorgeous!”

“Yeah, it’s one of the oldest houses in Winterfell. It used to be part of a larger castle, but this is what’s left. I’m trying to show them how we can renovate it and do an addition so they can still get what they want.”

He went through his various drawings and plans with her, and although it was true that Sansa only paid attention or understood about half of what he was saying, she loved listening to the soft hum of his voice and the pinch of concentration on his brow when he veered away from mere explanation and actually seemed like he was talking to himself as he worked out a problem. Eventually, without thinking about it, in the delirium of her tiredness, Sansa leaned her head on his shoulder, and he only hesitated for a brief moment before going on as if she hadn’t shifted to be closer to him. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight or maybe her current need for comfort was a biological imperative or maybe she had finally reached the point where she could hang out like this with him without getting hung up on potential complications.

After her next contraction hit, she stood and said she was going to back to the couch.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Jon replied.

“I need you to come sit with me so I can put my feet up.”

Jon smiled and looked down, and Sansa thought she might have noticed a blush in his cheeks, but that seemed so unlike him.

Once they were settled on the couch, Sansa’s feet on Jon’s lap, his on the trunk, Jon found where they’d left off on the show they had all been watching earlier.

“Oh, you can choose something else,” Sansa said.

“How will I know what happens with the suffragette and the chauffeur guy if we don’t keep watching?”

She laughed in response, and they settled into a comfortable silence. Sansa wondered if she’d eventually get comfortable with needing him this much, even when he didn’t know it.

As they watched one episode, then two, the contractions got longer and closer together. Jon dozed off a couple of times but was woken by Sansa, as she shifted and whimpered in pain. It was 4:12 in the morning, when she finally said out loud, “I think it’s time.”

* * *

Jon felt like he’d been in a waking dream the entire night. Half dying to sleep, half unwilling to close his eyes lest he open them again only to find himself alone, not just without Sansa but without anyone, living the lonely life he still assumed would be his lot eventually. But when she said the words, “I think it’s time,” adrenaline officially took over. As gently as he could, he moved her feet back onto the floor. As another contraction hit—hadn’t she just had one?!—instead of asking for the millionth time if she was OK, he ran down to the basement apartment to wake up Arya. She grabbed the hospital bag Sansa had packed a month ago, as well as her own, and went to throw them in the car while Jon went to wake Theon.

He was sprawled out facedown on his bed on top of the covers, still wearing the T-shirt and lifeguard-red swim trunks he’d worn all day at the rec center. Jon shook him by the shoulder several times before Theon lifted his head up in a sudden jerk.

“What?”

“It’s time, Theon.”

“Huh?”

“Sansa’s about to have the baby.”

Theon sat up suddenly, finally coming all the way out of sleep. Jon stepped back out of his way. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“About 4:15,” Jon answered. “Arya’s helping her get in her car.”

“What are you doing up?”

“Um, I was up getting some work done.” Jon suddenly felt self-conscious about not having woken Theon earlier, wondering whether he’d have wanted to spend that time with Sansa, wondering whether any of the last several hours had happened because Jon was being selfish.

Theon rubbed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jon turned to leave but stopped at the door as Theon called out to him again.

“This is a weird thing to ask, but if I’m ever just royally fucking things up with her, will you tell me? The baby, I mean.”

Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m no more of an authority on fatherhood than you are. Less so, actually, considering mine was never around.”

“You’re responsible for putting a roof over this baby’s head.”

“Only because I had one to offer.”

“And I didn’t, but I still get to be there for my baby because you did that. When Sansa first told me she was pregnant, I didn’t think that was going to be possible.”

“You need to get going,” Jon said, not sure where this was coming from or how else to respond.

“Look, Sansa didn’t just move in here because she didn’t have her own place. She trusts you. So do I. If I just fuck things up, which—let’s be real here—is what I do half the time, it would be nice to know that you’re going to be there, like a sort of . . . back up father figure.”

“You’re going to be fine, Greyjoy. I’m not saying you have nothing to worry about, ‘cause I don’t really know, but you’ll figure it out.”

“As a dad? Sansa has good models, at least. I think we can both agree my father’s kind of a prick.”

Jon smiled. “You’re going to be there when your kid is born, so you’re already way ahead of mine. That is assuming you get up and get dressed now. I think there’s some urgency.”

“Will you just agree so I feel better?”

Jon was touched. He hadn’t expected this much emotion from Theon, who wasn’t one for opening up, certainly not to Jon. “OK, I will help you when you need help.”

“OK,” Theon said, with a sigh of relief. “Go ahead and tell them I’ll be right down.”

Arya was in the front seat of her old hand-me-down SUV and Sansa in the back, with Jon standing at the curb, when Theon came down the front steps.

“We’re having a baby!” he said as a greeting.

Jon chuckled as Arya responded, “Please stop with the we, asshole, when my sister is the one who’s going to be doing the pushing.”

“Can we just go, please!” Sansa gritted out, mid-contraction.

Jon waved as they pulled away and smiled on seeing Sansa turn toward him and mouth silently, “Thank you.”

A couple of hours later, he was in his bed, mindlessly scrolling through news on his phone when it buzzed with an incoming text.

_Hi, Jon. You’re probably asleep. I just wanted to say thank you, again, for staying up with me. And of course, for letting me move in, and for the apartment._

It was from Sansa.

He sat up and watched the three dots come in and out several times before another text popped up.

_I’m really glad you’re going to be in our lives. Mine and the baby’s. Just wanted to get that out, before I forgot. Please don’t judge my sappiness when you read this._

He considered not answering but couldn’t help himself. 

_Jon: I would never._

_Sansa: ???_

_Sansa: What are you doing up?_

_Jon: Sleep is a myth._

_Sansa: *shakes head in motherly tone*_

_Sansa: You need your sleep, Jon._

_Jon: *ignores in petulant teenager tone*_

_Jon: What’s happening? Did you give birth already?_

_Sansa: LOL no_

_Sansa: Just got settled in my room. Epidural is in._

_Sansa: Natural childbirth is a myth._

_Sansa: (Kidding. I’m just a wimp.)_

_Jon: haha_

_Jon: I wouldn’t say that. So what’s happening?_

_Sansa: A lot of nothing. I’m not fully dilated yet, so Arya and Theon went to find some breakfast._

_Sansa: There’s a lot of hurry up and wait involved, apparently._

_Jon: Glad you’re not in pain at least._

_Sansa: Thank you for tonight. Again._

Jon stared at his phone for a minute, wondering how he could respond when another text came up.

_Sansa: Doctor is back. Cross your fingers I’m ready for this._

He knew exactly what to say this time.

_You are._

Jon waited a few minutes to see if she’d reply, but she didn’t, so he set his phone down on his nightstand and picked up the book he was reading.

When he woke up, he didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was shining brightly into his room. The book was next to his head on his pillow, and his phone was buzzing such that he thought someone was calling, but it was a series of texts coming in, in quick succession.

It was Arya responding to the Stark family group text to which he’d been added a while back.

The first text was a picture: a tiny wrinkled, screaming face wearing a pink and blue beanie. 

_Meet Mary-Alys Greyjoy Stark_

_7 pounds on the nose_

_Best baby ever in my unbiased opinion_

_Mother is doing fine_

_Tired but looks like she just went for an evening stroll because she’s an evil witch who’s never had a bad hair day in her entire fucking life_

Jon grinned, which turned into a laugh when he read the next one.

_Father puked on seeing the baby crown but claims it was from happiness_

_In case anyone cares he’s now also doing fine_

The rest of the texts were more pictures, a few including Sansa and Theon, and replies from Ned and Cat expressing joy and saying they were on their way to the hospital.

Jon was about to send Sansa a separate message when Robb knocked on the door and came in.

“Oh, you’re up. You’ve seen the news, then?”

“Yeah, just now,” Jon said, pushing the covers off and sitting up.

“I wonder what time they left,” Robb said, leaning against the doorjamb. “I didn’t even hear anything.”

“It was a little after four in the morning,” Jon said.

“I’m going to shower and head over there. Are you coming?”

“The hospital? Uh, no. That feels like a family-only thing.”

Robb narrowed his eyes in a way that made Jon roll his. “So, can we address the elephant in the room?” Robb said sitting down on the chair at Jon’s drafting table.

“Robb—“

“No, we need to have this out now because once the baby’s home, that’s all anyone will be thinking about.”

“Well, I don’t think Sansa would appreciate being referred to as an elephant.”

Robb laughed. “Oh, hey! He’s got jokes!”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Maybe not in the next few days or even the next few months, but something is going to happen.”

Jon sighed. “Can you just say what it is you’re worried about?”

“You and Theon always had this weird competitive thing between you, and when we were kids, being young and self-involved, I thought it was just because you both wanted to be my best friend. But then we grew up and I realized it was actually about my sister, or maybe it just became about her. Now, it feels like things are finally coming to a head.”

Jon leaned his arms on his knees and looked down at the floor, not able to look at Robb when he replied, “Things aren’t coming to a head, Robb. They did already. Theon got the girl.”

“I think that’s the closest you’ve ever come to admitting how you feel about her out loud.”

Jon scratched his head and stood. “I’m fine. I assume they will eventually also be fine, OK? It’s all fine.”

“The third _fine_ really sells it.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh.

“This baby wasn’t Sansa choosing Theon, dude. It was an accident.”

“I was referring to what led to the baby,” Jon said, turning back to face Robb, who had also stood. “Usually, when two people sleep together it means they like each other.”

“You know they only did it once, right? You want to know when that was? And why?”

“I don’t want to know anything about it.”

“The most honest thing you’ve said in the last ten minutes."

“Fair.”

“Was asking her to move in just some form of self-inflicted torture?”

“No,” Jon replied, trying to convey how much he meant that. “Believe it or not, I was trying to be nice. My mom had to raise me by herself. And I know the situations were different, but I didn’t want that for Sansa. And if she’d stayed with your parents, your mother wouldn’t have let Theon spend time with the baby.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

“That’s not good for the kid either—again, speaking from experience.”

“So you did it for Theon, too?"

“No ulterior motives, OK. I swear by the entire Seven.”

Robb chuckled. “I know. I believe you. That’s not your style, but . . . you are not _utterly devoid of feelings_ , despite Danaerys’ excellent public break-up tirade that I will quote until I die.”

Enough time had passed by now that Jon could laugh about the scene Dany had made when they’d run into each other a week after he’d told her it was over.

“Anyway,” Robb went on, “if it gets to be too much, just talk to me. Unlike Arya, I won’t punch you in the face if I think you’re being stupid.”

Jon laughed again, meaning it even more this time. “I avoided it for a long time because of how I feel, but I do like being Sansa’s friend. I’m OK with it, really.”

Robb’s expression was askeptical one.

Then Jon realized his slip. “Felt. I meant to say because of how I felt.”

“Sure you did. Now, get dressed. You’re going to the fucking hospital.”

Once there, everyone had to take turns going into Sansa’s room, where no more than three were allowed at a time. Jon was with Rickon when he went in to see them.

The baby was in Sansa’s arms and Theon was grinning, leaning on the foot of the bed.

Jon came over to offer a congratulatory hug. “You look happy as a clam, Greyjoy. Congratulations.”

“She’s a beauty—looks totally like me,” he said. “And she’s going to have her mother’s brains, which means she’s basically going to rule the world.”

“She looks like an old man,” Rickon retorted.

“All babies look like that, goof,” Sansa said. “Come meet your niece.”

“She’s not pooped, is she?” Rickon said, hanging back.

“No, are you?” Theon said with a laugh.

Sansa rolled her eyes and motioned for Jon to step forward.

“Do you want to hold her?”

“Um—“

“Do it, Snow,” Theon said. “We’re putting you on diaper duty first.”

“Is that what the talk of being your back up was really about?”

“What talk?” Sansa asked curiously.

“I made Jon Mary’s official honorary dad, ready to tap in for me on a moment’s notice.”

With a nervous chuckle, he said, “That’s not exactly how I would I have put it.”

“Actually, it’s perfect!”

As Jon leaned over, and Sansa put the baby into his arms. “Mary, this is Jon,” Sansa said. “Your honorary daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem random, but Theon was a competitive swimmer when he was younger and is now a lifeguard and helps manage a local recreation center. I mention it because his job will be a thing in this story eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mary at three-months-old, Sansa gets her first night out since becoming a mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, to anyone still reading this! My job has been crazy lately. I appreciate having it during these tough times, but it has left me with very little time and even less energy to write. This chapter came out in fits and starts. It doesn't feel terribly well written, but it's DONE. If you are still into this story, please let me know. Comments are the best motivation to keep going.

**Three months later**

“WHERE IS SHE? WHAT’S HAPPENED?”

Jon and Theon looked up to see Sansa running into the kitchen in the T-shirt and shorts she had fallen asleep in the night before, with the manic look of someone who had woken abruptly as if from a nightmare.

“Who? Mary?” Jon asked. “She’s right here.”

Theon turned slightly to show the bright-eyed baby, happily sucking on her fist, tucked inside the baby carrier he was sporting. “I’m taking her to the rec center, remember? That baby swim class I was telling you about starts today.”

Sansa took a deep breath and put her hand on her heart to try to calm herself down. “I woke up and didn’t see her in the crib and freaked out. Usually, her crying wakes me up like clockwork. What time is it?”

Jon handed her a fresh cup of coffee. “A little after seven.”

Sansa accepted the cup with both hands. “You’re the best,” she said with a sweet sigh and a bleary-eyed smile. Her hair was in a tangled braid barely staying together, and Jon was fairly certain it hadn’t been washed in several days. He felt like a fool thinking it, but he still considered her the prettiest girl he’d ever met. Since Mary’s birth, the polished, put-together, dressed-perfectly-for-every-occasion Sansa he’d always known had given way to the sleep-deprived, no-make-up, mussed hair Sansa now and almost always clad in old T-shirts and boxer shorts that kept disappearing from his basket in the laundry room. He wasn’t sure that she knew they were his and not Robb’s or Theon’s, but not having said anything to this point, he wasn’t sure whether doing so now would be more embarrassing for her or him.

“You feel OK?” Jon asked.

She took a sip of coffee and nodded. “I do now. How long has she been up?”

“Maybe twenty minutes,” Theon answered. “I came downstairs to see if either of you were up, and she was just lying there smiling, waiting for someone to pick her up. You, on the other hand, were snoring like a fucking lawnmower.”

“Please watch your language,” Sansa replied. “I’m pretty sure I told you I would maim you if her first word is fuck.”

“I’m just saying. It was loud.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter to take another sip of coffee, but immediately stood back up. “Wait, did you get up to feed her in the middle of the night?”

“No,” Theon answered.

Sansa looked at Jon with eyebrows raised, and he shook his head in response.

“Jon read to her at seven last night, and then I bathed, fed her and put her down around eight,” Sansa said. “I fed her again at eleven. If she was up at six, that means she slept almost seven hours.” Sansa let out a happy laugh. “Mary slept seven hours in a row!”

She immediately went over to Theon and leaned down to look at Mary in the carrier. “Baby! You slept through the night!” Sansa threw her arms around them both, then turned and jumped into Jon’s arms. “Mary slept through the night!”

Jon laughed as Sansa let go to start clapping as Theon chanted, “Ma-ry! Ma-ry! Ma-ry!”

All three of them were still chanting when Robb walked into the kitchen dressed for work. “What major life achievement are we celebrating today?”

“Mary slept through the night for the first time!” Sansa said excitedly. “It’s probably a fluke, and she’ll probably go back to her usual routine tonight, but Gods, I wish I could have told myself last night it would happen so I could appropriately savor the sleep.” Looking at her brother, she added. “I’m surprised you didn’t comment on the lack of crying at 2 a.m. Complaining about it used to be your morning greeting.”

“Snow bought me some earplugs a few weeks ago, so I’m good now,” Robb said, pouring himself some coffee. “But this is an excellent life choice, niece.” He smiled down at Mary’s face as she peeked out from the carrier and let out a gurgle. “Sleep is one of life’s great joys, so get it while you can.”

“You got him earplugs?” Sansa asked, turning to Jon, who had settled into one of the stools at the counter with his coffee and his laptop open in front of him. “That’s so nice of you.”

Jon scratched his head. “Well, I got them for myself and then realized that Robb’s complaining about the crying was much more annoying than the crying itself, so I handed them over. No regrets.”

“Ha ha,” Robb deadpanned. “Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’m presenting at the Winterfell Historical Society’s meeting today, and it’s not until 10. I’m taking the morning to go for a run and then prep for the meeting.”

“Well, I gotta go. I have five final inspections at five different job sites lined up today. Text me if you’re free for lunch. Dad has some drawings he wants me to run by you.”

Jon smiled. It still amused the people who knew them that when he and Robb chose to dovetail their many summers spent working for Ned’s construction company into careers, Robb had chosen the practical, managerial path instead of architecture school like Jon. But Ned had never pressured any of his kids to follow in his specific footsteps. Robb had merely chosen what he was good at and what he felt would be most useful to keep the family business thriving. As a young kid, Jon had at been driven, in part at least, by a chip on his shoulder made bigger by the unstated but often obvious assumptions by those around him about how far someone with his humble background could go. For the same reason, he had applied at all the big local firms after he’d graduated: to prove that he could. Stark Builders wasn't his to inherit so he had to make his own name for himself. Ned had always supported him, though, had always believed Jon’s chosen career was something he could be great at despite his initial misguided motivations. Ned had been right, and even now when Jon had grown past needing the affirmation, the Stark patriarch occasionally still sought out Jon’s professional opinion. Jon suspected that Ned bothered only because he knew doing so made Jon feel good about himself. He liked that, though.

“Bring them home tonight,” Jon said to Robb, “I don’t know how long this historical society thing is going to go.”

“Does someone need to tell dad how much other work you have?” Sansa asked Jon.

“Snow does it for the ego boost,” Theon answered for him.

“Validation from Ned Stark is its own form of currency, as you well know,” Jon said with a shrug and both of Ned Stark’s actual children laughed.

“Why deny something so painfully true,” Sansa said.

“Agreed,” Robb said, shrugging on his coat. “And about tomorrow night, are you coming or not?”

Jon let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“What’s tomorrow night?” Sansa asked.

“Some black-tie fundraiser mom and dad sponsored a table for, before conveniently deciding to go out of town and forcing me to go in their place,” Robb replied.

Jon chuckled. “Catelyn has ulterior motives. She set Robb up on a blind date, and there are two open seats at the table left on top of the two he’s using, so he’s trying to force me to come bear witness to the awkwardness.”

“You _and_ a date,” Robb said. “No reason to waste a good meal already paid for. Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

Theon laughed. “Your love life? Dude, if your mom is stepping in, the cause is lost.”

“Very funny, Greyjoy.”

Sansa laughed. “Who’s the girl? If it’s mom’s set up, maybe I know her.”

“Roslyn Frey,” Robb answered.

“The name sounds familiar,” Sansa said.

“Frey Construction,” Jon said. “The owner, Walder Frey, has been trying to talk Ned into merging with Stark Builders for years. I’m guessing Catelyn’s just trying to get the old man off her back by offering Robb up to his daughter.”

“Interesting strategy,” Sansa said. “Then again, I can’t remember the last time I got to have dinner, dancing, and free drinks, so it actually sounds divine no matter who the company is.”

Jon watched Sansa as she went over to the coffee pot to refill her cup. It really wasn’t a good idea, but he spoke it aloud anyway. “Do _you_ want to come?”

Both Sansa and Robb replied at the same time, “What?”

“Well . . . there are _two_ tickets left.” Jon’s eyes went back and forth between Sansa’s expression, which was surprised and hopeful, and Robb’s, which was suspicious but also _knowing_. It really, _really_ wasn’t a good idea. Why had he said it like he was asking her to go with him? Trying not to sound like he was backtracking, Jon added, “If you want to go, Sansa, you should. In fact, invite Margaery or . . . go with Theon!”

“Leave me out of this please!” Theon quickly cut in. “I work at a place I can wear track pants or swimming trunks all day for a reason. Besides I’m going out of town this weekend. It’s the annual Greyjoy Family Camping Weekend.”

“That sounds sort of fun,” Sansa said, sounding like she didn't believed her own words.

Theon shrugged. “It’s mostly just drinking in the woods while listening to Uncle Euron brag about the size of his boat.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie,” Sansa said, turning back to Jon. “The idea of getting dressed up and wearing make up for the first time in months does sound like a dream, but I don’t want you to miss out.”

“Trust me, I won’t be missing anything. I have been Robb’s third wheel too many times for that to be the case.”

“You won’t be a third wheel if it’s a double _date_ ,” Robb said with a smirk that underscored to Jon just what a terrible idea inviting Sansa had been. “What do you say, San? Want to be Jon’s plus one?”

Jon looked at Sansa, who had clasped her hands under her chin. “If he’ll have me.”

“Of course,” he replied, wishing it didn’t sound and feel defeated and desperate.

Sansa clapped excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she was a little girl going to Cinderella’s castle, in a way Jon couldn’t help but find adorable. “Yay! Human interaction with age-appropriate people!”

_How bad could it possibly be?_ he thought. It wasn’t about him. She just wanted to get out of the house and deserved it after months of adjusting to motherhood as young as she was. A dinner date with dressed-to-the-nines Sansa was a dream. A part of him would always wish it could mean more, but he remained true to his conviction that he would be there for her as a friend and not complicate her life. She wanted a carefree night out, and he could do that. Putting his feelings aside was something he was used to at this point. Very used to.

“OK, if that’s settled, I’m going to head out,” Robb said.

When he was gone, Sansa asked Theon, “So what is this swim class, exactly? Is she even old enough?”

“It’s just a mommy-and-me class,” Theon said with a shrug. “You swim around the shallow end pulling your kid around while the teacher sings Ring Around the Rosie a hundred times.”

“Three months just seems kind of early for that.”

“She’s gotta start getting ready for the Olympics some time,” Theon replied with a serious expression that could not be mistaken. “I don't want her to only be good at freestyle and not all the strokes you need for the individual medley. Arya and I have her training schedule all planned out. Trust me.”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. Sansa only rolled her eyes. “I’m too tired to argue with that logic. Just be careful.”

“I’m a _lifeguard_ ,” Theon said, mockingly rolling his eyes back at her.

“I’d be more worried about him hitting on the other moms in the class, if I were you,” Jon said.

“The man makes an excellent point,” Theon said. “And with this six pack for dad bod, I don’t even have to try that hard.”

Sansa shook her head. “Incorrigible. OK, give her to me, and I’ll feed her and change her before you go.”

A short while later, Theon headed out with Mary, loaded down with her diaper bag, car seat, stroller and a small cooler with four bottles of breastmilk.

Sansa came back into the kitchen and sat down on the stool next to next to Jon, letting her forehead fall on the cool marble of the counter.

Jon chuckled. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

Sitting back up, Sansa said, “I’m happy to get the morning to myself. I just thought I’d be one of those easy going moms who doesn’t over-worry about every little thing, you know? He doesn’t need half the stuff I made him take with him.”

“Nothing wrong with being prepared.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. "With Theon any number of scenarios can play out. I should have put condoms in that baby bag.”

Jon laughed. “In his defense, I think the excitement about the swim lesson was genuine.”

“You’re right. Honestly, he’s been really great. Certainly, more reliable than he was before Mary was born.”

Jon nodded, then looked back at his laptop screen.

“You know it’s because we live here, right?”

Jon scratched his head. “He’d have stepped up regardless.”

“I know, but this makes it a lot easier, for him _and_ me, so if I haven’t said it yet today, thank you.”

He kept looking at his computer screen, feeling her eyes still on him. He was never sure how to respond when she mentioned how much getting to live with Theon meant to her.“You can stop saying that.”

“And you can just say, ‘You’re welcome.’”

He finally turned to look at her again. Sansa was smiling sweetly at him, head leaning on her hand.

Pointing to herself playfully, she said, “I say, ‘Thank you,’ and then you say . . .” She pointed to him.

Jon felt himself blush slightly and his cheeks pinch, wanting to smile but feeling too self-conscious to let himself. “You’re welcome,” he finally said, grudgingly.

She threw her head back laughing. “See! Was that so hard?” Still giggling to herself, Sansa stood up. “Do you want some breakfast? It’s been ages since I cooked a proper meal for myself. How about pancakes?”

“Sure,” Jon answered, all thoughts of going for a long run now gone from his mind if it meant he could spend a little time with her.

Despite the fact she had barely left the house since Mary had been born, on most days, Jon only ever saw Sansa in passing. The first month, the house had been packed with visiting Starks and Greyjoys coming in and out on a daily basis, and he had given all of them a wide berth, not wanting to seem like an intruder, which is what he sometimes still felt like despite Sansa and Theon’s insistence he couldn’t be that in his own house. Things eventually settled into a routine, but work usually took him out of the house before she was up. The only time he ever ventured down to her basement apartment was for his nightly reading time with Mary, for which she usually cleared out to make good on her promise that it serve as bonding time for them. At only three months old, Mary could be forgiven for not expressing whether the ritual meant much to her, but in the short time he’d been doing it, it had come to mean everything to Jon. He—like all other Starks and Greyjoys—was ready to make every sacrifice to ensure Mary-Alys was happy. 

“What are you presenting about?” Sansa asked. “I think my mom was on the historical society at one point. What do they even do?”

“Complain.”

Sansa laughed as she started measuring and mixing ingredients across the counter from him.

“The principals at my firm keep assigning me projects in historic districts, which have to be approved by the society. I do actually like preservation architecture, but it means I have to deal with this pack of rich old ladies, none of whom have ever worked and whose idea of good design is ‘I know it when I see it.’ I’m not actually presenting a project today, just talking to them about how they review plans. I’m trying to convince them to adopt design guidelines. Otherwise, they’ll have an uprising on their hands. No architect in town I know wants to deal with them.”

“If you want to do a dry run of your presentation, I can give you some feedback.”

“This stuff is mind-numbing. I won’t force it on you.”

“Well, if it’s mind-numbing, then you _really_ need my help.” 

Jon looked up to see Sansa with her hands on her hips, looking at him with an I’m-not-taking-no-for-an-answer expression on her face.

“I work in public relations, which means I am an expert at convincing and persuading,” she said.

“Aren’t those the same thing?”

Sansa shook her head. “You convince someone to believe something and persuade them to do something. For example, I’m going to convince you that you need my help and persuade you to cue up that presentation so I can see it and make it better.”

Jon sat up and crossed his arms. “OK, go.”

Sansa grinned cutely and leaned over to pull Jon’s laptop toward before he cut her off.

“No, I mean convince and persuade me.” He sat up and crossed his arms.

Laughing, she said, “I love that you think this is going to be hard for me.”

Jon’s brow furrowed slightly, wondering for a second if she was actually aware of his lifelong hopeless crush on her and figured he’d go for whatever she said because, well, when had he not.

“I happen to be very good at what I do,” she said, whisking the pancake ingredients she had measured out into a lumpy batter. “I know most people don’t think I’m very smart, but—“

“Wait, I don’t think that,” he cut in quickly.

“I know. You’re too nice.”

“No, I mean . . . I know you’re an intelligent person. If I’m saying you don’t have to help me, it’s not me thinking you won’t be helpful. I know you would be. I just don't want to waste your free morning.”

Looking around her, Sansa asked, “Where are the pans, again? I can’t believe I’ve been here three months and I still need help finding stuff in the kitchen.”

Jon stood and walked over to the cupboard with all the pots and pans and took one out. He set it on the stove and turned the burner on as Sansa brought her bowl of batter over. As the pan warmed, they stood facing each other.

“This will be good for me,” she said. “I go back to work in a few weeks and need to get back into the swing of it. Otherwise, Cersei will eat me alive. Or worse, fire me. Is that what you want?”

Jon smiled at her pointed look. After a long moment, he walked back over to his laptop and turned it so it was facing her.

“See, I’m good,” Sansa said with a playful shake of her shoulders that made Jon need to look away again.

“So you don’t actually need to do this?” he asked.

“No, I _do_ , but I only pointed that out because I knew it would work on you. The number one key to success for any PR campaign is knowing your audience. Getting you to accept help is like pulling teeth, but when someone else needs help, you’re there for them no matter what, so I reframed me helping you as you helping me. Voila.”

“That _is_ good.”

Sansa nodded. “I told you! Now, you do the pancakes while I look at this, and we’ll have your old ladies at the historical society eating out of the palm of your hands.”

“I’m not sure that’s the desired outcome.”

She winked at him and replied, “I'm an overachiever.”

Jon turned back toward the stove, dropped a scoopful of batter on the pan and watched it slowly start to bubble. After a moment, he turned back to watch Sansa who was concentrating on the screen and biting her lip. This was the longest they’d spoken—just the two of them—in a while. It reminded him of how much he liked talking to her, which was not always a good thing to be reminded of, because it made him wish for things that he could no longer wish for. 

Sansa looked up. Jon would have felt foolish about being caught staring, except Sansa pointed to the pan behind him and the pancake now smoking ominously, so he could only feel foolish about _that_.

“Oh, shit!”

She laughed and looked back down at the computer, starting to type. “Are you that worried about the presentation?”

Jon chuckled at the idea it was the presentation and not merely getting a chance to look at her that had distracted him. “Should I be?”

“Not anymore,” Sansa said confidently. “I’m redoing the look of it. You design beautiful homes. I design beautiful PowerPoint slides. Not nearly as exciting or useful, but we all have our role to play.”

Jon laughed, feeling endeared and proud that she thought he did his job well. Eventually, he managed not to burn enough pancakes for them each to have a healthy stack. As they ate, Sansa walked him through her changes. Once they had both had their fill—after several minutes of her insisting and him trying not to give in and ultimately failing—Sansa also had Jon run through the presentation as he would do it for the society members so she could give him pointers. Then, she made him do it again. And then again a final time. At first he felt self-conscious, but her advice was so thoughtful and practical, he felt silly not having sought it out before. By the time he had finished it the third time, he could see and feel just how much better it would go.

Despite everything she had done for him already that morning, when he started to clean the dishes from their breakfast, Sansa pushed him out of the kitchen and told him to go get ready. It was getting close to the time he needed to leave. When he came out of his bathroom, he laughed on seeing that while he showered, she had picked out clothes for him and laid them out on his bed.

“Sansa?” he called out from his room.

“Just put it on,” she answered.

“But—“

“Just do it!”

The gray slacks and button-down shirt she’d picked were not what had given him pause, so he put those on and brought the bowtie and sport coat she’d also set out downstairs with him.

“Danaerys gave me this,” he said referring to the tie with clear distaste. “I’ve never worn it. I don’t even know how to put it on.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Give it here.”

“Sansa . . .”

“Jon, I already told you,” she said, taking the tie and pulling up his collar so she could put it on for him. “You have to play to your audience. Middle-aged women love bowties. All women do, actually, but especially mothers of grown men.”

“Because bowties are infantalizing?”

“Because they’re _cute_! The sport coat just finishes the look. I even put a pocket square in it. They will love all your ideas and possibly also want to set you up with their single daughters—actually, let’s dial it back a notch and not do the pocket square. I don’t want you to get married any time soon.”

Jon swallowed thickly, not at all minding having her stand so close as she tied the bowtie but glad that she didn’t seem at all phased by it. “I think we’re safe as far as that goes.”

“Don’t sell yourself or my styling skills short.”

“I never dress up this much when I go to their meetings.”

“Maybe, that’s why they complain so much,” Sansa said, looking at him pointedly.

He smiled as she stepped away so he put the sport coat on. When he looked at her again, she Sansa was waiting, holding his messenger bag with his laptop in it. She handed it to him, as she pulled out the handkerchief she’d placed in the pocket of his sport coat out. There was a domesticity to the moment that he wished he didn’t like as much he did, but he also couldn’t deny that he was more prepared that he had been when he’d woken up that morning. In fact, the moment captured what being around her boiled down to for him: feeling disarmed and improved all at once.

“Text me when you’re done,” she said. “I want to hear how it went.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

She looked him up and down and for a second he thought he might have spied a blush coming over her face, but before the thought of what that might mean could settle on anything beyond his own wishful thinking, her phone buzzed.

Sansa went over to where she’d left it on the sofa and her face brightened on looking at it in a way Jon guessed meant it was likely a picture of Mary from Theon.

“Look at this,” she said, holding it up to him. It was two pictures. In the first, Theon was holding Mary in her bathing suit an inch over the pool water. In the second her feet were in the pool and her previously serene expression was now scrunched up in a determined cry. Theon was grinning proudly in both.

Jon laughed out loud. “And to think you were worried,” he said.

“I know, right,” she said with a laugh. “OK, go! Be amazing!”

Jon thanked her again and left, feeling a bit lighter than he had a minute ago, no longer preoccupied with his own confused feelings.

Life was about Mary. She mattered more than anything else. Jon was happy with that.

* * *

The following evening, the night of the benefit, Arya arrived to babysit as Sansa, Jon and Robb were all still getting ready. In another month, when Sansa went back to work, Arya would be on summer vacation from her job as gym teacher a local elementary school. (As with Theon, for Arya, wearing gym clothes all day was a big perk.) She had offered to care for Mary during the day while Sansa was at work and this would be her first opportunity to watch Mary on her own.

Her comment that Jon was living out his dream of taking Sansa to prom was not appreciated, though he was thankful that she at least that she said it when Sansa was still downstairs getting ready. When she came upstairs, she handed Arya three type-written pages, single-spaced, with instructions on Mary's care and forced Arya to read them while she stood there to ensure she did.

"You realize I'm giving up my Friday night for this," Arya said.

"You realize this is my child!"

Arya huffed but did as asked on the condition that Sansa not text her for an update every fifteen minutes.

Before they left, Sansa insisted that Robb drive to the benefit separately so that he couldn’t use Jon and Sansa as an excuse to cut his date short, which meant that when Jon and Sansa walked into the event together everyone—to his great consternation and her seeming amusement—immediately treated them as if they were there _together_ together.

It started when they were still at the coat check. He helped Sansa out of hers to reveal a long, figure-hugging dark blue gown that he would definitely have dreams about for the coming weeks. (She’d come up from her apartment already in her coat, so this was the first he was seeing of it.) Her long hair hung in long, loose curls, pinned up on one side. Her mood incandescent from “not smelling like breast milk or baby puke.” A bit tongue-tied, Jon didn’t have a chance to say something about how nice she looked before Mrs. Mormont, the president of the Winterfell Historical Society, was upon them, dressed as per usual in an immaculate Chanel suit.

“So this is the woman we have to thank,” she said by way of greeting.

“Good evening, Mrs. Mormont,” Jon said. “This is—“

“Sansa Stark,” Mrs. Mormont cut in. “I know that shade of red hair anywhere. Your mother and I go way back, dear. We miss her at the society.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Mormont. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

“You both look wonderful. You make a beautiful couple.”

“Mrs. Mormont, we’re not—“

“I knew the minute Jon walked into our meeting yesterday, there was a new girl in his life.”

Sansa smiled. “I did give him a hand getting ready, but I can assure you, he did the hard work.”

“Well, yes, Jon is nothing if not prepared. He won us over yesterday, and we’re not an easy bunch to impress, let me tell you. We decided to make you the head of our new design review committee.”

This was news. “You did?” Jon replied, hoping his shock didn’t come off as rude.

“We need a professional to lead the effort. You said so yourself, and I can’t be bothered with a search. Jon, dear, you’re a grown man, you may as well learn what all women already know: If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. So what do you say?”

“I . . . yes. Yes, I would love to.”

“Perfect!”

Jon felt Sansa squeeze his arm in excitement as Mrs. Mormont flagged down a passing server carrying a tray of champagne flutes.

“You didn’t tell me it had gone _that_ well,” she said in a whisper, leaning into him.

“I honestly didn’t know.”

“Let’s toast,” Mrs. Mormont said, drink in hand, gesturing for Jon and Sansa to take one from the tray being offered. “To Winterfell’s historic future!”

Jon and Sansa both raised their glasses and took a drink. Soon after, Mrs. Mormont spotted someone else to accost and left them without a second look.

“Historic future?” Sansa said.

“I’ve been to one of her dinner parties,” Jon replied. “She’s probably three martinis in already.”

“Well, let’s catch up,” Sansa said and quickly downed the rest of the champagne. “This is so good. Thank you so much for bringing me.”

“My pleasure . . . you look really nice by the way.”

She blushed. “Thank you. So do you.”

“You didn't even have to offer to help me.”

Sansa laughed. “You in a tux is impossible to get wrong. Let’s go find our table. I’m dying to see Robb and his date.”

Sansa pulled him by the hand that was still tucked in the crook of his arm, and they made their way around the ballroom to their assigned table where Robb and a timid looking blonde were sitting and looking in different directions. Noticing them, Sansa stopped short. “Wow, full-on awkward already,” she said. “Let’s go to the bar first.”

A few minutes later, another drink in hand, they came back to the table and Robb practically jumped out of his chair.

“THERE YOU ARE!” He said with a desperate expression on his face that made both Jon and Sansa snicker.

“You must be Roslyn,” Sansa said, taking the seat next to her.

“Hi,” Roslyn replied in a small voice.

Robb, pulling Jon with him, made an excuse about needing to refresh their drinks. As they moved away from the table, Jon heard Sansa say, “Go ahead and get me another one. I’ll finish this by the time you come back.”

“That bad?” Jon asked Robb.

“Worse. It’s been nothing but one-word responses since I picked her up.”

“She probably didn’t want the set up either,” Jon said. “Maybe you can bond over your overbearing mothers.”

“Mom definitely owes me for this one.”

“Maybe she thinks you need to catch up with Sansa in the grandchildren department.”

“You’d think with Mary the pressure would be off.”

Jon laughed.

“What about you?” Robb asked.

Jon looked at him askance. “What about me?”

It was Robb’s turn to laugh. “You stumbled into a date with Sansa. How is it going?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Only because you’re a wimp.”

“We’re just friends.”

“She doesn’t dress up like that for friends.”

Jon sighed. “She’s excited to have a night out. That doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“It has _something_ to do with you.”

“It doesn’t, but even if it did. She has a baby. We live with said baby. And the baby’s father. You really think adding to that cocktail is a good idea?”

They finally got to the front of the line at the bar and ordered their drinks. When they were served, Robb clinked his and Jon’s together, saying, “To denial.”

Jon smiled into his drink. “ _You’re_ in denial, Stark,” he said. “In denial about the fact you’re on a date right now. Let’s go sit down.”

When they got back, everyone else invited to sit at the Stark Builders table had arrived. Ned’s right hand man, Jory Cassel, was there with his wife, as was the receptionist, Willa Manderley, who had brought her girlfriend. The last couple, neither Jon or Sansa knew. Robb introduced the guy as a new project manager who had started only a month before. He looked to be about their age. So did his date, a pretty, brown-skinned girl with a friendly smile and curls pulled into a ponytail at the base of her neck. She introduced herself to the group as Jeyne Westerling.

Before dinner was served, there was a short program of speakers, so everyone turned to the stage at the head of the ballroom. As they all shifted in their seats, Jon felt Sansa’s hand on his shoulder. He turned and her face was so close to his, their noses were almost touching.

“Sorry,” he said leaning back. “What is it?”

“I’m drunk!” she said, in half horror, half delight.

Jon’s brow furrowed. “You are? We’ve been here twenty minutes.”

Sansa took a deep breath and he noticed immediately that she was swaying unsteadily. “Is this what happens when you go more than a year without drinking?”

His mouth quirked up, and he tried not to let the smile forming go further than that. “I don’t know.”

“Seven fucking hells!” Sansa said, eyes alarmed but still smiling, in an urgent whisper.

“Keep your voice down!” Jon looked around the table but everyone seemed focused on the speaker at the head of the room.

“I’m drunk!”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No! I just can’t believe this. I have no tolerance for alcohol anymore.”

“Have some bread,” he said, grabbing one of the basket of dinner rolls on the table.

Sansa took a huge bite then went to grab her champagne glass to wash it down, but Jon grabbed it first.

“Hey!”

“You’re going to keep drinking?”

“We just got here!” Sansa with a mouthful of bread.

“Maybe you should slow down.”

“That’s what the bread is for.”

Jon chuckled. “You don’t want to pass out prematurely, do you?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and started to lean forward before she jerked back. “OK, fair point. But I’m going to have at least one more drink before the night is over. Well, two. At least. Probably more than that. I’m putting you in charge of periodically texting Arya since she is less likely to block your phone. You also have to make sure I don't do or say anything weird or stupid. My impulse control has a terrible track record.”

Jon tilted his head, amused. “Are you a rash drunk, Sansa?”

“I have a baby. What do _you_ think?”

At this mention of Mary, Willa, who was sitting on Jon’s other side, leaned over and asked how she was doing, mentioning how proud Ned had seemed when he showed off pictures at the office. Endeared at the thought of her father as a proud grandpa, Sansa proceeded to take out her phone and show off even more photos of her daughter. Jon leaned back to give them room to talk, unsure how to react to what Sansa had just revealed.

Mary obviously hadn’t been a planned pregnancy. Jon also knew that Theon and Sansa hadn’t ever officially been in a relationship. Certainly, they weren’t in one now, but he had assumed, at least, that the encounter that led to Mary’s conception hadn’t come out of the blue, that there had been at least some preamble, some sort of romantic build up that he had missed amid his preparation for his licensing exams and the subsequent break down of his relationship. Sansa’s implication that it had been a drunken impulse was a surprise, and he wondered whether that meant things were still unresolved between her and Theon.

Then, Jon reminded himself that the how and why of Theon and Sansa wasn’t a good topic for him to mull over. He’d been explicit to both Arya and Robb multiple times that he wanted no details. It was none of his business.

“Are you going back to work soon?” he heard Willa ask Sansa.

Sansa nodded, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with clearly alcohol-fueled excitement. “I’m so ready. I know I’ll miss her, and as much as I need the income, my brain also misses daily adult conversation.”

“Don’t Theon, Robb and I count?” Jon cut in.

Sansa laughed and playfully tussled Jon’s hair before taking another sip of her drink to which Jon responded by giving her another dinner roll.

A few minutes later, when the food was served and Sansa had directed her drunken chattiness to Roslyn, on her other side, who didn't seem as engaged but at least wasn't ignoring her the way she seemed to be ignoring Robb, Willa leaned over and said quietly to Jon, “You two are cute.”

“Excuse me?” he replied.

“You and Sansa.”

“Oh, we’re not a couple.”

“Well, ‘You’re cute’ was all I said,” Willa said with a wink.

And that was the night in a nutshell: Sansa tipsily flitting from conversation to conversation while Jon followed her with a glass of water and clarification about their non-couple status, when that was necessary.

Which is not to say that they didn’t enjoy themselves, only that they lost track of Robb and Roslyn shortly after dinner was over and the cocktails and dancing started. The event was still in full swing when Sansa had clearly had enough and attempted to kick her heels off. They did a lap around the ballroom before deciding to just text Robb to let him know they were leaving. Sansa almost immediately fell asleep upon getting into Jon’s car, and when they got home, Arya greeted them with a loud, boisterous laugh as Jon carried Sansa inside.

“Lightweight!”

Jon grunted in response.

“Where’s Robb?”

“Good question.”

Down in the basement apartment, Jon set Sansa down on her bed as gently and quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Mary. Once Sansa had shifted into the pillows, Jon pulled her comforter over her, burrito-style.

“Jon?” she whispered, eyes closed.

He leaned down. “Hey, we’re home. Mary’s over here in the crib.”

“Will you check on her?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

“Ok,” she sighed into her pillow. “Thanks for taking me tonight.”

“Glad you had a good time.”

He turned to go, but felt her grab his jacket. Before he realized what was happening, Sansa had pulled him down kissed him square on the lips. It over in an instant, but she lingered an inch away from him for a second or two after, eyes still closed. Then she fell back against the pillows again. Jon stood there, immobile, for another minute before the sound of her snores startled him back into motion. He took several steps back until he backed into the crib. Mary, swaddled into a tiny bundle, was sleeping peacefully.

He took a deep breath and watched the even up and down of her breathing. He took another deep breath and smiled. 

Life was about Mary. She mattered more than anything else. Jon was happy with that.

* * *

The pounding in Sansa’s head registered before anything else. Then when she tried to move, it was the heaviness of her limbs. 

“Fuck,” she said into her pillow. Then immediately groaned at the dryness of her throat and mouth. 

She couldn’t remember getting home or what time it had been.

_Time_.

Even though it felt like it took every ounce of energy in her body, she lifted her arm to feel for her phone on the nightstand. It read 7:13 a.m.

A now familiar panic came over her and despite the fact her body felt like it weighed several tons, she scrambled out of bed and over to the crib.

It was empty.

Sansa wanted to run up the stairs following the vague notion that she couldn’t do anything until she’d found her daughter safe and secure. But then she remembered the last two mornings. Mary was likely upstairs and in the arms of one of the not exactly big but certainly strong men they lived with who would surely wake Sansa in the event of an actual baby emergency, right?

“Right,” she said out loud. 

There were her dry throat and mouth again.

She needed water. Lots and lots of water. She went to her bathroom and leaned over the sink to drink straight from the tap. Standing back up and looking at the mirror, she saw the mess her hair was in, as well as the fact she was still in the dress she’d gone out in.

_ How did I get to bed? _

_Better question: How much did I drink?_

The thought of alcohol turned her stomach, and she went back out into her room to change into shorts and a T-shirt before heading upstairs. Slowly. On pace with the pounding in her head.

“Hello?”

_Jon’s voice._

“Where’s Mary?”

“Right here.”

As Sansa came all the way into the living room, there was her baby, happily sitting on her bouncer, which was next to Jon on the floor, facing him.

Sansa slid down onto the sofa. “Baby, I’m so sorry your mother is so irresponsible and hungover.”

Jon laughed. "I remembered that she's been waking up without crying lately so I went down to see if she was up a little while ago and she was. I'm sure if she needed you, she'd have let you know."

"I haven't been this hungover since college." 

“You can go back to bed and sleep it off, if you want. I’ll keep an eye on her. I already fed her and everything.”

“Thank you. You’re amazing.”

“I facilitated the drinking, so it seems only fair.”

“I’ll power through it as penance for getting so wasted.”

“In your defense, it didn’t take much.”

Sansa sighed. “They don’t mention loss of tolerance for alcohol in any of the baby books.”

“Here.”

Sansa sat up and took a long drink of the glass of water that had been sitting on the trunk, obviously set there by him for whenever she came up. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought back to the day before. She’d felt silly for practically forcing Jonto take her to the benefit, but it had been so fun to dress up and spend a few hours letting herself flirt with him or the thought they were one of those stylish couples everyone in town was friends with, flirt with the possibility that maybe something more wasn’t impossible.

There was drinking, Robb’s painfully quiet date, dinner, talking, more drinking, dancing—the last of it in flashes she couldn’t quite thread together.

She looked down at Jon again and stared at the side of his face. They had been so physically close at so many points last night.

“Did I. . . do anything? Weird or stupid?”

He smiled that one smile that looked like he was frowning if you didn’t know him. Gods, she both hated and loved that smile.

“No. Unless you count hitting one of the servers with your shoes when you tried to take them off. An ambulance was called. I think they said it was twenty stitches.”

She kicked his shoulder playfully and laughed. “Mary, tell Jon to stop teasing mommy.”

“There was no ambulance, but there was an attempt to kick off your shoes, which I nipped in the bud before any injuries took place. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks again for letting me tag along.”

“Anytime.”

Sansa wanted to say something else but suddenly heard voices in the upstairs hallway followed by two sets footsteps on the stairs.

She exchanged a surprised look with Jon. “I thought he didn’t like her,” Sansa said. “The end of the night is a blank. Did I miss something?”

Jon shook his head, standing to see who was coming down the stairs.

It was Robb. And the girl he had been sitting next to. Not Roslyn, the one who had sat on the other side of him. Her neat ponytail of tight curls now a tussled mess. 

“Busted!” she said with a guilty smile, looking between a confused but amused Jon and Sansa. Noticing Mary, she said, “Oh, your baby is so cute! Mary, right?”

“Yes,” Sansa replied. “I’m Sansa.” She stuck her hand out to the girl, not sure what else to do.

“I know. We talked last night. I’m Jeyne. Jeyne Westerling.”

“Oh, sorry. Everything is a bit of a blur.”

“Well, you were a cute drunk. And Jon was taking very good care of you.”

Sansa turned to look at Jon, who quickly cut in, "You both obviously had an interesting evening.”

Jeyne and Robb looked at each other and smiled somewhat guiltily, but only somewhat. There were clearly no regrets between them.

“Yes, we did,” Robb said. “I’m just walking her out.”

“I promised my mom brunch so . . . gotta go turn back into a presentable daughter. It was nice meeting you both.”

Robb put his hand on the small of Jeyne’s back to guide her to the front door, and Sansa covered her mouth to stop herself from snickering. Once they were out of ear shot, Sansa turned back to Jon, “What in the name of the Seven happened to Roslyn?”

An equally shocked Jon replied, “No idea.”

A minute later, Robb walked back in.

“My hangover is officially cured, out of pure shock,” Sansa said. "You need to spill immediately.”

With a long sigh, Robb said, “Please don’t laugh, but honestly . . .I think she might be the love of my life.”


End file.
